Raising Steam: (Discworld novel 40) (Discworld Novels)

by Terry Pratchett

  Harry moved into what might be called his avuncular persona and said, ‘That might very well be so, my lad, but I think that you and me are going to a place where there’ll be a lot of money, and where there’s a lot of money there are a lot of people trying to take it off you. I’d like to think that if anyone broke into your big shed to fossick around for any interesting bits of machinery or clues as to how you build your engines, they might find themselves having to explain their interest to Snatcher, Stiletto Dave and Grinder Bob. They’re all good lads, kind to their old mums and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Call it, well, call it … insurance. And if you can be good enough to let them have a key, I’ll send them up there right now. Mind you, if you can’t find a key I’m sure they’ll find their way in. They’re very versatile in that respect.’

  Young Simnel smiled and said, ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Sir Harry. Perhaps I should give them a message to take to my mother. She’ll show them where everything is. My dad said always put a few nasty little booby traps around the place before you lock up and then after that owt they can steal from you they’re welcome to, if they’ve still got their arms to carry it away, that is.’

  Harry laughed out loud and said, ‘Sounds to me like your old dad looked at things just the way I do. What’s mine is mine and what is mine is me own.’

  When Moist and Mr Thunderbolt stepped out into the compound Moist saw that people were still queueing up for a ride on the train, which was waiting like a queen while Mr Simnel’s lads filled her bunker full of coal, and oiled and greased everything again, including themselves. They tapped her wheels and polished everything that could be polished, once again including themselves, while just about every little boy in the city, and, amazingly, most of the girls, stared at her in awe, worshipping at her shrine. And then it came back to him: earth, air, fire and water, the sum of everything! The goddess had found her worshippers.

  There was a sound like thunder, but it was only Mr Thunderbolt clearing his throat to say, ‘Remarkable, isn’t it, Mister Lipwig? There appears to be what one can only call a presence of sorts, a hint, as it were, that life turns up in many different guises, perhaps? Just a passing thought.’

  Moist had never heard such clear diction from a troll, and it must have shown, because Thunderbolt laughed, saying, ‘A touch of diamond does the trick, Mister Lipwig, and I will endeavour to draw up contracts that suit all parties, you need not worry.’

  Just then Moist beheld Drumknott, greasy and cheerful and covered with smuts, stepping off the engine and regretfully handing a hat and a very grubby jacket to one of Mr Simnel’s lads. Moist grabbed the little secretary by one arm.

  ‘Where did you get to, Mister Drumknott? I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ he lied. ‘His lordship is expecting you back any time now.’

  Moist wasn’t sure he liked Drumknott, but it wouldn’t do to have him as an enemy, being so close as he was to the engine that drove Ankh-Morpork, and so he cleaned up the little man as best he could and flagged a coach back into the city, noticing, as they travelled along the busy towpath, that the major traffic was still going the other way.

  Moist knew about the zeitgeist, he tasted it in the wind, and sometimes it allowed him to play with it. He understood it, and now it hinted at speed, escape, something wonderfully new, the very bones of the land awakening, and suddenly it seemed to cry out for motion, new horizons, faraway places, anywhere that is not here! No doubt about it, the railway was going to turn coal into gold.

  ‘Excuse me, young man.’

  Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobby Nobbs, who had taken it upon themselves to patrol the line of expectant sightseers queueing for a ride on the train, looked around uncertainly. It had been a long time since Sergeant Colon had been a young man, and as for Nobby Nobbs, although it was generally agreed that he was the younger of the two, there was some doubt about whether the term Homo sapiens could be applied to him; the jury of Ankh-Morpork was out. Colon and Nobby were supposed to have been on the beat in the Shades, but Colon had delegated that task to a couple of new recruits. ‘Good experience for ’em, Nobby. And it’s likely to be a dangerous business, this streaming engine. Needs someone to have a look-see – a couple of experienced coppers, let’s say, prepared to put therselves in harm’s way for the public good.’

  ‘Young man … excuse me,’ came the voice again. The speaker was a harassed-looking lady with two boys at heel, who weren’t at all at heel and were expressing their frustration at having to wait for the promised ride on the train in the supremely annoying ways that only small children can manage. In a desperate attempt to distract them from their contest to inconvenience as many people in the queue in front of them as possible, their mother had seized on the first official-looking people who might be able to entertain her offspring with some interesting facts.

  ‘We were just wondering if you could tell us how this locomotive goes?’ she asked.

  Fred Colon took a deep breath. ‘Well, missus, there’s the boiler, you see. It’s like a kettle.’

  This was not enough for the smaller child, who said, ‘Mum’s got a kettle. That doesn’t go anywhere.’

  His mother tried again. ‘And how does this “boiler” work?’

  ‘Well, you see, it sends the hot water to the engine,’ said Nobby hurriedly.

  ‘Right,’ said the lady, ‘and then what happens?’

  ‘And then all the hot water goes into the wheels.’

  The elder boy looked sceptical. ‘Really? How’s that done?’

  Nobby, cornered, said, ‘I think the sergeant can tell you that.’

  A little bead of sweat appeared on Colon’s face and he was aware that the two children were looking at him as if he were some kind of exhibit. ‘Ah, well, the water is magnetic, right, because of all that spinning,’ he said.

  The elder boy said, ‘I don’t think it works like that.’

  But Colon was on a roll and ignored him. ‘The spinning causes the magnetism and that’s what makes the water stick in there. Lots of iron in train wheels, stands to reason. And that’s what keeps the train on the iron road, magnetism.’

  The smaller boy changed tack. ‘Why does the engine go chuff?’

  ‘That’s because it’s chuffed,’ said Colon with a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘See, you’ve heard of “chuffed”. That’s where it comes from.’

  Nobby looked at his friend in admiration. ‘Is that why, sarge? I never thought of that!’

  ‘And when it’s had enough of a chuffing, there’s enough magnetism to hold the train on the iron road, see?’

  The last phrase was delivered in a rush in the hope that no more questions would be forthcoming. But it doesn’t work like that with children. The elder boy had had enough and decided to show off the knowledge gleaned from friends who had been there earlier in the day. ‘Isn’t it to do with reciprocating motions?’ he said, with a glint in his eye.

  ‘Ah, well, yes,’ blustered Colon helplessly. ‘You’ve got to have your recip-roca-tory motions to get the right kind of chuff. And when everything is chuffing and reciprocatoring, away we go.’

  The smaller child was still puzzled, as well he might be. ‘I still don’t understand, mister.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you’re too young to know,’ said Colon, taking refuge in the excuse used by exasperated adults through the millennia. ‘Very technical stuff, your chuffing. Probably shouldn’t even be trying to explain it to children.’

  ‘I don’t think I understand either,’ said the mother.

  ‘You know clockwork?’ said Nobby, coming to the rescue again. ‘It pretty much goes like clockwork, only bigger and faster.’

  ‘How’s it wound up?’ asked the boy.

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Colon, ‘that chuffing noise, of course, is the winding up. And when it’s wound up, then off it chuffing goes.’

  The smaller boy held up a clockwork engine and said, ‘He’s right, Mum, you wind them up and away they go.’

  Bemused, the lady said, �
�Right … well, thank you, gentlemen, for a comprehensive little talk. I’m sure the boys were fascinated.’ And she handed Colon several coins.

  Colon and Nobby watched the happy family as they climbed on to the cart behind Iron Girder. And Nobby said, ‘It’s a nice feeling, isn’t it, sarge? Being helpful to people.’

  Moist’s cab halted at the palace, and he helped an exhausted Drumknott up the stairs. Amazingly he was beginning to feel sorry for the little chap, who was looking like a lotus eater who had run out of lotuses.fn23

  Moist very carefully knocked on the door of the Patrician’s office, which was opened by one of the dark clerks. The clerk stared at Drumknott and looked askance at Moist, as Lord Vetinari himself stood up in surprise, leaving Moist impaled between two askances. So he saluted smartly and said, ‘I beg to report, sir, that Mister Drumknott very gallantly and fearlessly and at some personal cost has helped me form an opinion as to the practical aspects of the new-fangled train, risking his life repeatedly in so doing, and for my part I have seen to it that your government has a suitable measure of control over the railways. Sir Harry King is funding further research and trials, but personally, my lord, I believe the new railway will be a winner. I’m convinced that this prototype can pull more stock than dozens of horses. Mister Simnel seems to be very thorough in his work, extremely meticulous and, above all, the people appear to have taken the train to their hearts.’

  Moist waited. Lord Vetinari could outstare a statue and make even a statue start to feel nervous and confess. Moist’s counter was a fetching grin, which he knew annoyed Vetinari beyond measure, and there was absolute silence in the Oblong Office while blank stare and cheery grin battled it out for supremacy in some other dimension, which ended when his lordship, still staring fixedly at Moist, said to the nearest dark clerk, ‘Mister Ward, please take Mister Drumknott to his rooms and clean him up, if you would be so kind.’

  When they had departed, Lord Vetinari sat down and drummed his fingers on his desk. ‘So, Mister Lipwig, you believe in the train, do you? It certainly appears that my secretary is impressed. I have never seen him so excited by something that wasn’t written on paper, and the afternoon edition of the Times seems to be in agreement with him.’

  Vetinari walked over to the window and stared down at the city in silence for a moment and continued, ‘What can a mere jobbing tyrant achieve in the face of the even greater, multi-headed tyrant of public opinion and a regrettably free press?’

  ‘Excuse me, sir, but if you wanted to you could shut down the papers, couldn’t you? And forbid the train and put anyone you like in prison, yes?’

  Still staring down at the city, Lord Vetinari said, ‘My dear Mister Lipwig, you are clever and certainly smart but you have yet to find the virtue of wisdom, and wisdom tells a powerful prince that firstly he shouldn’t put just anyone he likes in prison, because that is where he puts the people he doesn’t like, and secondly that mere unthinking dislike of something, someone, or some situation is no mandate for drastic action. Therefore, while I have given you permission to continue, the train does not have my wholehearted approval. Neither does it have my curse.’ The Patrician seemed to consider for a moment and added, ‘Yet.’

  He walked up and down again for a second or two and then, as if the thought had only just struck him, said, ‘Mister Lipwig, do you think it a possibility that a train could in fact get all the way to, say, Uberwald? That journey is not only extremely slow, tedious and uncomfortable by coach, but it is fraught with many … ah, perils … and traps for the unwary traveller.’ He paused and added, ‘And indeed the unlucky bandit.’

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s where Lady Margolotta lives, isn’t it, sir?’ said Moist breezily. ‘But it would mean negotiating the Wilinus Pass, sir. Very dangerous up there! Bandits have been known to knock out coaches by throwing down rocks from the crags.’

  ‘But there is no other way without a very lengthy detour, Mister Lipwig, as you probably know.’

  ‘In that case, my lord … I think it might be possible to construct such a thing as an armoured train,’ said Moist, inventing furiously. He was gratified to see that Lord Vetinari brightened when he heard that, repeating the words ‘armoured train’ once or twice more.

  Then his lordship said, ‘Can it really be possible?’

  And in the squirrel cage of Moist’s mind, he thought, Can it? Can it really? It must be more than twelve hundred miles! It takes well over two weeks by coach and that’s if you don’t get hijacked, but who was going to try to hijack an armoured train? The engine would be wanting water frequently and is it possible that it could carry enough coal for the whole journey? The numbers rolled in his head. Stopping places, troughs for water, mountains, gorges, bridges, marsh land … So many things, any one of which could scupper the project …

  But going to Uberwald would mean passing through so many other places on the way and all of them could be opportunities to make money. The demons of critical path analysis swarmed around his brain. There was always something that you had to do before you could do the thing you wanted to do and even then you might get it wrong.

  To Vetinari he said cheerily, ‘Well, sir, I don’t see why not. And, of course, for such a long journey it should be possible to sleep on the train and for heads of state to occupy a complete suite of carriages, if not the whole train. Surely that could be arranged?’ Moist held his breath.

  After a few seconds his lordship said, ‘That would be appropriate, but, Mister Lipwig, I am not entirely bribed. The train must prove itself both financially and mechanically. However, I look forward to its success. It seems, Mister Lipwig, that you are using your extra-cheery voice and so once again you find yourself in your own chosen environment, that being the centre of everything. But tell me: where do you think will be the destination of the first commercial train? Quirm?’

  ‘Actually, sir, that has been discussed and it looks as if it’s going to be Sto Lat, because that’s where Mister Simnel has his machine tools and a large stock of materials that he would need to transport to Ankh-Morpork. Besides, that place is a nexus for the Sto Plains, and nexus means—’

  Lord Vetinari raised a hand and said, ‘Thank you, Mister Lipwig. I do know what a nexus is.’

  Moist smiled and headed for the door, showing his panic only on the inside, and as his hand reached the doorknob Vetinari’s voice behind him said, ‘Mister Lipwig, you surely realize that a thoughtful prince, a prince who wishes to keep his throne for some time and is shrewd in the ways of people, would not travel in a thrilling armoured train … He would put somebody else on that train, somebody expendable, having himself travelled the previous day in a suitable disguise. After all, there are such things as very, very large boulders, and most definitely there are a great many spies. But I shall consider your idea. It has a beguiling ring to it.’

  Over the next few weeks more and more people heard about Iron Girder and even larger crowds passed through Ankh-Morpork to see the new marvel of the age, including delegates, ambassadors and representatives from most of the towns across the Sto Plains. And, of course, there were the other artificers and freelance tinkerers, inspecting everything they could see and trying to find out everything they could about what it was they weren’t being allowed to see.

  Every night Iron Girder was driven along a set of rails into a locked shed on the compound where she would be safe from interference due to the presence of Harry’s most fearsome attack dogs and also two golems, brought in by Harry because, unlike dogs, they couldn’t be killed by a meal laced with poison poked under the door. They patrolled the huge shed, sometimes with members of the City Watch just for the look of the thing.

  Moist spent a lot of time in and around the compound in his not very official but somehow understood role as the grease in the outfit’s management, as essential as the buckets of the stuff that seemed to be required in everything to do with the railway. He had, after all, a stake in the railway’s fortunes as head of the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpor
k, where money was starting to go in and out faster than a revolving door as Harry wrote cheques for iron shipments, timber and extra metalworkers, many of whom were from the company of Free Golems: every one of them his own man, albeit one made of clay.

  And grease was definitely needed here. There was a mountain of paperwork already being generated by the railway, which Moist skilfully passed along to Drumknott, whose passion for paperwork was not quite yet eclipsed by his new passion for the railway. The little pink man was in hog heaven.

  Surveyors had been called in to work on a route. They were everywhere with their little theodolites. They treated Dick Simnel as one of them, only different. Moist was pleased about that. Dick had friends now, and if they didn’t understand all of his language they did indeed recognize it as bona fide language somewhat similar to their own and therefore they gave him respect. After all, these other people, in a way, did what he did only in different shapes, stresses, curves, loads, tolerances and substances, and thus where it counted were brothers under the skin. And like Dick, they worked by numbers and knew the absolute necessity of getting them right, and especially they knew the absolute requirement for precision.

  In the compound the sound of metal on metal filled the air, and on every flat surface in Harry King’s offices maps were laid out, and they were good maps.

  ‘Lads,’ Dick Simnel had said to the theodolite men, ‘Harry King is a good gaffer who pays top dollar for a top-rate service. He’s chancing everything to get the locomotives running, so I want you to make it easier for him. Iron Girder can take some slopes, and by ’eck she’ll take more before I’m through, but for now, what I’m telling thee is to keep t’permanent way as level as possible. And I know that there are such things as tunnels and bridges, but they take a lot of time and are flippin’ expensive! Occasionally a little detour might save us a lot of money, which is to say your wages. But think on, and I know it’s obvious, but do not go anywhere near swamps and other shaky ground. A locomotive with its coal tenders, carriages and crew is reet, reet ’eavy and the last thing we want to be learning is ’ow to pull a bogged-down locomotive out of t’quicksand.’